Overwatch
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: The Tower was located in the Overwatch district. Yet the 'watching' of the City mainly occurred along its wall.


**Overwatch**

"Does it make you feel better? Being among the men?"

"What are you on about?"

"Oh, nothing. I just question why the mighty Commander Zavala is out here in the cold."

Zavala tried to ignore Arach's remarks, as well as the sound of his fellow Awoken's footsteps as he drew closer.

"Well?"

Which was a lost cause, so he was left wondering how to respond. That it was indeed cold? That he was out here to indeed show he was willing to leave the Tower and brave the low temperatures with the City's defenders? That right now, he was tempted to grab Arach by the throat and toss him over the wall for Fallen dregs to cannibalize?"

"Fine, be silent. Like the Traveller."

Then again, Fallen eating Awoken wasn't cannibalism. And enlightened by the knowledge, Zavala glanced at Arach.

"Shouldn't you be preparing to cut and run?"

"Oh, so you do talk." Arach made a mocking smile. "And here I thought you were ignoring me."

"I can't ignore you Arach," Zavala said, returning his gaze to the land beyond the City wall. "Or the rest of Dead Orbit for that matter."

"Really?" Arach asked, an eagerness present in his tone of voice. "Do you mean the Vanguard-"

"I can't afford to ignore you because your fatalism is like a virus," the commander said, turning to face Arach. "And like many viruses, I can only treat the symptoms rather than cure it."

"How congenial of you."

"Count yourself lucky Arach. If I could cure your disease, I'd toss you over the wall right now."

Arach didn't respond. And Zavala leant over the wall, looking at the lands below. Verdant, by Earth standards. Barren by the standards of the Golden Age. He had enough memory to recall that. Recall that this continent was once called South America, that snow was once a rarity in this part of the world. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Arach lean as well.

"It does me good, you know," the Dead Orbit member said. "Coming here."

"Pardon?"

"This," he said. "Earth. It's dead."

Zavala snorted. "And you need to remind yourself of it." He looked at Arach. "You know, usually it takes more faith to believe in life than it does in death."

"Why?" Arach asked. "You're alive aren't you? After being dead for centuries?"

"The Light of the Traveller-"

"Fuck the Light, and fuck the Traveller," Arach spat. A fire gleamed in his silver eyes, one that Zavala couldn't recall seeing before. "You know, they should rename the outer City areas of the City the Overwatch District, not the Tower area."

"And why's that?"

"Because watching from the wall is what these men and robots do." Arach gestured towards the sentries on the wall, either deaf to the two Awoken talking or pretending to be. "The Tower watches nothing. The Tower is blind."

"And you think rushing into the dark is the better option," Zavala said. "To flee."

"And what's wrong with that?" Arach asked. "A very real Darkness is coming for us. The Awoken fled into the Black once, we can do so again. And I have no compunction against letting humans or Exos come along for the ride."

"How generous."

"Oh no, not generous, just realistic," Arach said. "Dead Orbit has to pick up the scraps of the Golden Age to ensure the survival of our species, I can't afford to be generous." His eyes narrowed. "The Vanguard on the other hand…"

Zavala laughed. "You're right."

Arach blinked. "I am?"

"Yes. About Overwatch." He stood up straight, gesturing to a sentry gun. "The wall _is _where the watching goes on. The wall is where I come quite often, to watch as well." He took a step towards Arach, towering over him by a full foot. "Flee if you want Arach. Turn tail and run. But don't lecture me on watching. Because when one flees, one doesn't look back. And that's what you want isn't it?"

"I want survival," Arach said, not budging. "Not platitudes."

"So do I," Zavala said. "And I don't want you in my sight any longer."

An uneasy silence lingered between the two men. Zavala smirked as he saw Arach shiver as snow fell onto his black hair, failing to generate any grey. He himself didn't feel the cold. He couldn't remember ever feeling cold. The Light, undeath…the Traveller had given him a second life. But a half-life at that.

"I see you won't be swayed," Arach said. "I take my leave."

"You do that," Zavala murmured, returning his gaze to the lands below. To the snow. To the coming dark as the sun set. To the stars, reminded of the wolves they spawned. The same wolves that were howling at the gate.

"You do that…"


End file.
